The Art of Losing Yourself
by ITookTheOneLessTravelledBy
Summary: For Stiles Stilinski, life in Beacon Hills has gotten too quiet. For Alexis Svipul, life in Beacon Hills is her escape - she wants to re-invent the girl whose parents were murdered. After a string of burglaries, Alexis, Stiles, and the gang find themselves in the heart of a supernatural threat. Together, Alexis and Stiles may be their only hope, if they can trust. Stiles/OC


The Art of Losing Yourself

 _Alex Svipul_

If you had asked me one month ago what I thought my life would be like, this was the farthest thing from it. I never expected to pack up what few belongings I had left and move from Phoenix, Arizona, where I was born and raised, to Beacon Hills, California, a place I had only ever heard about once from my estranged father and brother. Even then it was only to tell me that they were moving to a suburb of California. Nothing more.

But then again, I never would have even considered that in one single night, just before my sixteenth birthday, my life would be torn apart and I'd be in a living hell. Given everything that had happened, I didn't want to stay in Phoenix. I couldn't. I wanted to move. I wanted to leave that hellhole, I wanted to leave the memories, and most of all I wanted to leave behind the girl I used to be. That girl is dead. The people who broke into my home and ripped out my heart made sure of that. I don't want to be her anymore. I want to be someone else.

Unable even to force a sigh, I guided my piercing red Toyota Camry off the freeway – traffic in California is ridiculous – and headed into the suburbs. In just a few minutes I would arrive at my brother's house, my new home for the rest of my teenage life, or at least until I left for college.

Cranking the volume on the stereo until the bass shook the rear view window and pulsed through my chest, pounding through a heart I forgot I had, I reached across to the passenger side. Shadow, my faithful black German Shepherd, lifted her head and nuzzled my palm with her wet nose. I stroked her silky fur, curling a few strands between my fingers. She whined, but not from pain. She knew I was hurting, and she wanted to fix it but didn't know how. I patted her side. I didn't either. Jealous of the undivided attention, Ginger, a Blenheim King Charles Cavalier, scooted across the seat and perched on the center console. Yipping shrilly, she stuck her nose against my arm and huffed. Rolling my eyes, I obliged her all the same, pulling her long ears and tousling her head.

The two dogs and the Camry were the only part of my past that I brought with me. Everything else burned in the fire I left. Everything.

In a few minutes, I pulled into the driveway of the quaint, two-story house that would be my home. A red roof and odd black shutters, none of which matched, offset the plain brown wood of the home. Overgrown bushes lined the brick of the front walkway, and a white mailbox with flaking paint stood by the front curb. If mom saw the disorderly front yard and the mismatched paint, she would absolutely lose it.

The memory of my mother sent stabbing pain through my chest and I winced, clutching at the front of my thin gray hoodie. Finally heaving a sigh, I killed the engine on my Camry, shoved the memories back down, and opened the door. No one waited to greet me on the porch. Methodically, I leashed both dogs, walked them around the front yard until they relieved themselves from the long journey – the grass tickled my ankle beneath my black leggings – and walked up the front steps. I would at least need help carrying in my clothes and books.

I knocked on the white door. As I waited, I noticed stainless glass in the top of the door, as well as an old, dirty table on one side of the porch with a set of lawn chairs around it. A swing sat on the other end of the porch, the metal rusting and creaking as it stirred in the breeze. The door opened a second later and my brother's tired face appeared. Murky gray eyes studied me from behind slim, stylish spectacles, more aware than the drawn lines of his face would have others believe. He was smiling until he saw the two dogs at my feet, one with wagging tail, the other with ears perked alertly.

"I didn't know you had dogs," he said by way of greeting.

"Shadow is mine," I said and gestured to the German Shephard, "and Ginger is…was moms dog."

"I see," he said. Rubbing a hand through his long, thick auburn beard, he tucked a shoulder length strand of blonde hair behind his ear and gestured me inside. I followed as he led me up a flight of stairs, hardly bothering to study my surroundings. The dogs padded after me, their paws clicking against the wood. It wasn't easy to find the similarities between my brother and I unless you knew where to look. While he had natural, platinum blonde hair and blue eyes, I had light brown hair and green eyes, not that you would know – I dyed my hair corn wheat blonde after the incident. But we both had the same button down nose from mom and the strong, angular chin from our father.

On the second floor of the house, he opened the first door on the right and pointed inside.

"This used to be my study," he said, "but we cleared it out for you."

"Where's the stuff for your study?" I asked. Gesturing for the dogs to sit and wait – my brother's eyebrows rose when they obeyed immediately – I stepped inside the room.

"We moved it to the garage," he said. I nodded and stared at my furniture. I had seriously underestimated the size of the room. The queen-sized bed took up nearly the entire space, with the side stand that I had ordered squished between the wall and my dresser. An Ikea storage unit smooshed between the bed and the other wall, and a small desk crowded the other corner. The rolling chair couldn't even move from its squished position against the bed.

"We weren't expecting this much stuff," my brother said awkwardly. It came out partway between an apology and an accusation.

"Chett," I said, "it's fine. Thank you." I tried to smile but my face did something weird. It felt like my cheeks twitched, but judging by the puzzled look on Chett's face the attempt at a smile failed.

"Right, well, of course. You're family, right? Anyway, I'll let you get settled." With that, he turned to leave but paused at the door. "And really, Alex…I'm really sorry, about…you know, about what happened." He sounded like he'd rather be anywhere but standing there offering me half hearted condolences. I wished I was anywhere but there trying to figure out how to handle his half-hearted condolences and make the situation less awkward.

In the end, I stood stiffly in place until he left and I heard his footsteps fade down the worn steps of the staircase. My brother and I hadn't truly spoken since I was at least seven or eight. It was right after our parents divorced, and as usually happens with divorced parents, lines were drawn; my brother chose my father, I chose my mom. I think he only agreed to take me in because I had nowhere else to go.

Once the murmur of quiet voices picked up downstairs, I beckoned the dogs inside, closed the door, and plopped onto the bare mattress. Ginger immediately began inspecting the room, sniffing at the wood and poking her nose into any nook and cranny she could find, while Shadow hopped up onto the bed. She curled against my side and rested her muzzle on my stomach, her milky brown eyes watching me. I stroked between her ears and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. I couldn't bring myself to unpack just yet. I needed time to be alone, to process. Process everything that happened, and how I had come to be here.

When I look back on it now, the life I had in Phoenix was perfect. As a teenager, of course I didn't know or appreciate it at the time. You never know what you have until it's gone. But it truly was perfect. I made varsity soccer my freshman year of high school, and became a co-captain my sophomore year. After that, scouts from different colleges started showing up to our games, and my mom and step-dad bought Shadow for me as a reward. I had good grades, I had good friends that I'd known since childhood, I danced in the school marching band, the front office displayed one of my paintings from art class, and I competed in martial arts competitions with my boys. I was always looking for the next challenge, always eager for the next rush that would make me feel alive. It seems foolish now to constantly want more, but that's how it was.

Until the night I had nothing.

A string of burglaries had been occurring in my neighborhood. After the house right across from ours was robbed – no one was hurt, but at least $12,000 worth of property was stolen – my step-dad installed a new security system, and set the alarm every night. Somehow, it wasn't enough.

I squint my eyes against the memories, but I can't push them away forever. They're always there, always in the back of my mind, always threatening to overwhelm me and drown me in misery and sorrow. So in the darkness of this unfamiliar room of a foreign house with people I hardly know, I let the memories come.

It was a Wednesday night the week of my 16th birthday. I remember going to bed early to study for an algebra test, but I ended up falling asleep instead. I remember waking up to the sound of Shadow's quiet growls, and Ginger's frantic, shrill barks from her crate in the other room. Instantly awake, I got to my feet and walked towards the door. At first I didn't think anything was wrong. At first, I honestly believed that a loud truck had driven by, or perhaps Ginger needed to go outside since she had a bladder the size of a peanut. I didn't realize something was actually, truly wrong, until I heard the scream and the thud.

My blood went cold. I turned back to my room and grabbed the first thing I could find, which happened to be a hammer I'd been using to put up some posters. With a snarling Shadow at my side, I threw open the door and ran down the hall. My breathing sounded too loud in my own ears. I was afraid whoever was in the house would hear my thundering heartbeat. My fingers shook against the hammer. And then I saw it.

A man with a black cowl dropped my mother onto the tile of the kitchen floor. I barely registered the blood that seeped down the front of her shirt, or the way her lips trembled, opening and closing slowly, struggling for breath. Adrenaline told me to take action, and some part of my brain told me my mother was in trouble. Fear and rage took over.

I hurled the hammer at the cowled figure. The person turned and snatched it out of the air, but I'd already moved again. Grabbing a set of cooking knives from their wooden block, I sprinted for the figure. He barely had time to lower his hand before I drove one of the blades into his shoulder. I tried to ram the other into his stomach, but he grabbed my wrist and twisted fiercely. Yelping, I released the blade and pulled away from him, trembling all over. I remember seeing a skeletal face glaring down at me with eyes like fire. For a second I forgot how to move, how to breathe. Then the figure released me and fled.

The darkness seemed less frightening with his departure. Still shaking, I knelt and picked up my mom. Blood bubbled from her lips, and her grip was faint as I held her hand in mind.

"Your- your brother," she gasped out. Her voice sounded strange, like she was drowning, gurgling for breath. "Your brother." I didn't want to leave her, but I knew what she wanted.

"I'll be right back," I remember hearing myself say. "I'll be right back. I'll be right back. Stay here." I didn't know why I said that. It wasn't like she had the strength to move herself. I remember feeling like it was a dream. I remember telling myself to wake up, or waiting for myself to burst out of bed, panting and shaking. But the dream, or rather nightmare, continued. When I got to my brother's bedroom next to mine, I found a corpse in his bed, his pretty brown eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. I dropped to my knees and screamed until my insides felt hollow, until it felt like my body was splitting from the inside out. Then I scrambled to my feet and raced back down the hall, desperate to hold onto whatever family I had left.

When I returned to my mother, her eyes were closed, and her face deathly white. I grabbed her and shook her, then raced to my parents' bedroom. My step-dad lay on his stomach facing away from the door. Filled with relief, I ran to him, sobbing, and pulled him over, then stopped dead. Stab wounds littered the front of his chest, freely weeping blood onto their white bed sheets. His arm dropped from my numb fingers. I stared at his unseeing eyes, unable to accept the truth of what had happened.

Everything gets a little hazy after that. I remember returning to my mother's side, holding her and crying as she drew her last breaths. I remember gathering all of my family together, as if I needed to be with each of them at the same time, or as if I couldn't bear to leave any of them alone. I don't remember calling the police, but they arrived a short while later, sirens wailing, the blue and red lights flashing in the dark kitchen. I didn't bother opening the front door as they knocked. When they burst through, the wood scattering across the tile, they found me sitting on the floor in the kitchen with my dead family around me. I cradled my beloved little brother in one arm, held onto my mother, and somehow held my step-dad with my other arm.

The police tried to take away their bodies, but I fought them, wildly. I remember my frame of mind very vividly, although the police and the court appointed psychologist all claim I was in a state of shock. In truth, I knew exactly what was happening. I knew that I was never going to see my family again, and I wanted to preserve that night, the last night they were alive, for as long as I could. If the police took them away from me, I was afraid I would lose them forever. For some stupid reason, I thought that if I could just keep them with me, that if I could keep holding them, keep loving them, it would all go away. Like a bad dream. Like a nightmare.

But I never woke up.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and stared at the unfamiliar white ceiling. Instead of unfamiliar, I tried to see it as blank, and fresh. Just like my life. I was going to wash clean the girl I had been, the girl who somehow survived when the rest of her family was murdered, the girl who once had everything she ever wanted without realizing it. That girl was gone. That girl was dead. I was here to start over. I was here to forget. I was here to lose myself and hopefully never find her again.

 _Stiles Stilinski_

The warning bell pealed sharply through the hallways of Beacon Hills High School. Covering his ears, Stiles winced and hurried down the hall, sneakers squeaking against the tile. Lockers slammed shut all around him, but he kept looking until he found Scott and Kira leaning against the lockers. The way they stared deeply into each others' eyes and smiled told him he probably shouldn't interrupt, but he had never been one to actually listen to social cues nor did he have the patience.

"Hey, so, how's it going? All nice and normal for everyone? Just a few typical high schoolers flirting and fraternizing in the hallway between classes?" he asked sarcastically. Scott rolled his eyes and turned, hiking his backpack farther up onto his shoulder.

"Just because nothing weird has happened lately doesn't mean there's anything wrong, Stiles," Scott said patiently. "In fact, it's kind of the opposite." Stiles rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's a good thing, right?" Kira added. She glanced quickly between them, her eyes brightening when they landed on Scott's face.

"Um, am I the only one who _hasn't_ forgotten Lydia's weird, cryptic warning?" he demanded. Scott and Kira shared a look.

"She's a Banshee," Scott said with a shrug. "She gets those feelings all the time."

"Yeah, which should make you even more suspicious!" Stiles blurted out. "Because it means she's always right. And this wasn't jus a warning, Scott, if you recall. Her exact words were, and I repeat verbatim, she felt 'a promise of death'." Stiles spread his arms wide and leaned forward expectantly as if that was the only explanation they needed. Silence followed his announcement.

"Isn't that just like…life?" Kira said quizzically. Scott hid a laugh behind his hand but Stiles sighed impatiently.

"I'm just saying, things have been getting too quiet around here," he grumbled softly. Scott pushed away from the lockers and patted him on the shoulder.

"Regression to the mean, Stiles," he said. Stiles stared at him blankly. Scott lifted his brows pointedly and took Kira's hand, who giggled, and walked away. Throwing his arms into the air in exasperation, Stiles paced after them.

"What do you- What does- what is that, some kind of wolf code?" he finally asked.

"It means things can't always be bad," Scott said simply. "It all kind of…comes back to the center, to balance, you know? Just enjoy it, man. For the first time in a long, long time, Beacon Hills is quiet for once."

"Yeah, and why do I get the feeling that's worse than it sounds," Stiles said quietly.

"Honestly, I think you're bored," Scott said bluntly.

"What? What makes you say that?" Stiles hedged. It was partially true, but saying he would rather solve puzzles and search for bad guys instead of study for an economics test sounded mental, and he'd already done his stint at the Eichen House.

"Well, nothing supernatural has been happening, and the crime rate has even gone down, hasn't it?" Kira pointed out.

"Yeah, the only thing my dad is working on is a string of burglaries in town," Stiles admitted.

"Then it means we've actually been doing our job better than we think," Scott said enthusiastically. Stiles glanced at him in exasperation. "Just relax, everything's fine." He placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "After all, I'm the true Alpha, right? What could go wrong?"

"Why would you say something like that?" Stiles demanded with a put upon sigh. "You know in all the movies the good guy says that before something horribly awful happens." Laughing, Scott released him and wandered to class, Kira prancing after him. He watched them with a sigh and turned, running a hand through his short, spiky hair. He felt restless and antsy, and didn't particularly feel like sitting through the last class of the day. Perhaps he could ditch. It took all of a second for him to make the decision.

With jaunty steps, Stiles strode towards the front of the school. As much as he didn't want to admit it, maybe Scott was right. Things had been quiet since the incident with the nogitsune – he shuddered at the thought – Malia was adjusting well to high school – or as well as could be expected, all things considered – and outside of that weird, cryptic warning a month ago, Lydia hadn't had any other premonitions of gruesome death. Overall, things were going good. Which didn't explain the weird, knotted feeling he had in his gut, like something really, really bad was about to happen. With a shake of his head, Stiles brushed his hair into place with a sigh and lifted his head. A flash of yellow caught his eye and he paused, back-tracking a few steps to find the disturbance.

The door to the principal's office was slightly ajar. Frowning, Stiles peered closer. A student sat in front of the principals' desk, her long, yellow blonde hair hanging down nearly to the seat. It was clearly dyed by the bright hue. A young man who didn't look that much older, with shoulder length platinum blonde hair, sat in the other chair. He spoke with the principal in a hushed voice, and the principal's normally stoic expression changed to one of pity. He glanced at the girl and murmured something Stiles' assumed were condolences, judging by the sympathy in his eyes. The girl shifted in her chair but said nothing. The principal turned back, and the two men continued talking.

Glancing up and down the hall to make sure no one was coming, Stiles tightened his grip on his backpack and stepped closer. The words were becoming more audible, but still unintelligible. He crept even closer, ducking his head to avoid being seen through the window, lifted his eyes, and froze. The girl twisted around the chair and watched him with pale green eyes - rimmed with such thick black make-up it looked like goggles - that would have been beautiful if not for the freezing emptiness in their depths. In fact, her entire face, with her alabaster, flawless skin, those rosebud lips, button nose, and strong chin, would have been breathtaking if not for her complete lack of expression. It was like she literally lacked the ability to feel. Not even a twitch of a micro expression gave her away.

Stiles' eyes widened and he scrambled backwards. Warnings clanged through his mind. He had to tell Scott. He didn't know what it meant, but he had a bad feeling about that girl. Fastening his backpack against his back, he ran for class as the late bell tolled.

 _Alex Svipul_

I kept the news of the peeping Tom to myself. I don't know why a boy would listen in on a conversation between a student and the principal – unless news of the murder in Phoenix had spread this far, which I sincerely hoped it didn't – but it didn't matter, at least not to me. I checked the schedule of classes – English honors, Algebra II, World History, Economics, Gym, and an elective – checked to make sure I knew where to find my locker, wandered around for a little bit, and left. Since my brother had to leave for work I rode my bike back to the house.

I spent the majority of the rest of the afternoon unpacking and trying not to think or feel. It was surprisingly easy to do. Once I had put away all of my clothes – I'd managed to re-arrange the furniture so it was at least accessible, if still crammed together – and arranged the movies and decorations in my storage desk – alphabetical order – I grabbed the dogs' leashes and headed downstairs. Night had already begun to full, changing the sky from a clear, lazy blue to an ominous indigo. The dogs clamored after me. Ginger yipped and barked, racing down the stairs then back up it as if prompting me to move faster, while Shadow ghosted at my heels, a quiet escort. I gazed absently out the window as I descended the stairs and stopped once I reached the main landing. A cluttered living room sat to my left, and the dining room / kitchen opened up onto my right. The wooden table of the dining room sat in full view of the base of the stairs, and for a second all I could do was stare.

My brother sat at the table with his pregnant fiancé. It hadn't been a planned pregnancy, but fortunately he'd proposed to her before they found out. Chett always looked fatigued, with dark bags under his eyes, because he was struggling to save up for starting a family he hadn't been prepared for. A glass plate of lasagna sat between them, and they picked at the tail end of their dinners, talking quietly. Paula, my brother's fiancée, lifted her head with a faint smile, brushing her black hair out of her face. She had bright blue eyes, the kind a movie star wants and guys swoon over, and dark, delicate features. She stroked her protruding belly, and Ginger ran in circles beneath the table.

"Hi, Alex," she said. I nodded mutely. My brother turned and swallowed his mouthful, gesturing to the food.

"Feel free to eat whenever you want," he said. My vision grew hazy as a memory assaulted me, unbidden.

" _Alex, dinner!"_ _my mom called. Sighing, I paused my recording of How I Met Your Mother and walked down the hall in my sweatpants and tank top. "Grab your brother, too!" Pausing midstride, I turned on my heel and wandered back to his room. I knocked my knuckles against the door, and opened it after a muffled "come in" from within._

" _Hey," I said and peeked inside. My little brother lay sprawled across his bed, fingers flying across his controller. The light of the TV screen reflected in his light brown eyes. "Come on, it's dinner time."_

" _One second," Hunter mumbled. I scoffed._

" _Can't you pause?" I asked._

" _It's a boss," he shot back. He bit his lip as slashing sounds, accompanied by a crash and wailing cry, spilled from the TV._

" _It's always a boss," I said sarcastically._

" _I'll be right there!" he practically shouted._

" _Okay, it's not my fault if you get in trouble!" I shouted back. Rolling my eyes, I turned and headed back down the hall. With a smile, my mother trailed a hand through my hair and handed me the silverware to set the table, which I did. We always ate dinner together, unless I was at a friend's house or dad was on a business trip. Even if someone sat down first, we waited until everyone was there to start, and waited to leave until everyone was finished. We all helped with the chores, and on special nights we watched movies. Always._

It took me a second to become aware of my surroundings once more. My breathing sounded harsh in my ears again, and the sounds around me were muted as if cotton had been stuffed into my ears. At the table, Chett looked confounded and Paula gripped the edge of the table in concern.

"Alex," Chett asked nervously, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I said breathlessly. My chest felt tight, making it difficult to breathe, and my hands had begun to shake. "I'm going to, um…" My voice broke and I paused to clear it. "I'm going to…take the dogs out. Ginger." The little gold and white dog pranced over, and I quickly fastened her leash, as well as Shadow's. Mumbling some sort of farewell, I waited until I had locked the front door before practically flying down the front steps. I took off at a run down the street, towing Shadow and Ginger behind me, glad that I hadn't changed out of my shorts and shirt.

The sounds of cars whipped by me, the blaring of horns and the buzzing of street lights. The darkness crowded around me, but I welcomed it. I wanted darkness. I wanted not to feel, not to think, not to know. I wanted the oblivion that the night provided. I don't know how long I ran for, and I would have continued if I hadn't become aware of resistance in Ginger's leash. Slowing slightly, I turned and saw her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, head bent as she struggled to keep up. Instantly remorseful, I slowed my pace to a walk and looked for the nearest gas station. Shadow slowed her pace as well, paws silent as she prowled across the ground. She panted as well, but her sleek, powerful build promised a few more miles of endurance, unlike the delicate cavalier.

In Phoenix you could literally find a gas station at almost every corner, but here it was different, more spread out. Sighing, I reached for my pocket only to realize I had forgotten my phone in my haste to leave. Sweat beaded against my skin, and I wiped my forearm across my forehead, drying my bangs. Finally, I stopped and took a good, hard look around, squinting through the darkness. There were buildings around me, but I didn't recognize any of the street names, or the area of the town for that matter. I had spent the previous day driving around to get used to the area – where the grocery stores were, as well as any bookstores, restaurants that I might know of, or movie theaters were – but I had run past the outskirts of my neighborhood. After a minute, I realized that I wasn't exactly sure where I was, and although it should have frightened me it didn't. I had already experienced far worse.

I wandered around for a little bit, and eventually found a tiny rivulet of water that ran from the woods on my left and formed a puddle in the street. I brought the dogs over and waited as they eagerly lapped at the water. Since the water didn't look naturally occurring, I followed its trail to another building – a restaurant or bar, by the looks of it. A few street lamps illuminated the parking lot, already packed with cars, and the sounds of music and merriment floated from the nearest open window. The trail of water came from a bucket of melting ice by the back porch. As I wandered closer, a pair of shadows broke away from the porch and staggered towards me.

I stopped between a black sedan and white SUV. The dogs stopped with me; Ginger sniffing at the ground with a wagging tail, but Shadow watched the oncomers with perked ears and a stiff tail.

"Lookie lookie 'ere," one of the figures, a tall man, slurred. "Out fer a lil run?"

"Or a lil fun?" the man at his side snickered. Once again, I should have been afraid, logic told me I should probably run, or hide, but I didn't do either, and I didn't feel a thing. I simply stared at them as they approached me, noticing their drunken stagger and the way their eyes roamed, unfocused, across the asphalt and occasionally across me. Ginger waged her tail happily and perked her ears at the unwanted guests, blissfully oblivious, but Shadow pressed her ears flat against her skull and let out a low, warning growl.

One of the men blinked in surprise and turned, nearly falling over.

"Wad 'as that?" he mumbled. "Gah!" He released an odd exclamation that almost sounded like a burp as he spotted Shadow, teeth gleaming in the lamplight. "Ah, that thur's a dog!"

"Of course that thur's a dog, idjit," the other man said with a hiccup. "And that thur's a fine lookin' lady!" He gestured to me, or tried to, but his thumb veered off course and bumped into the hood of the sedan. "Awh, fer Chriss sake, I'm drunk."

"You jus'na realiz…realzin…realazin-" the other man stumbled over the word – "ya jus now knew that?" Shadow's growls grew louder as the men staggered onward, but I gave one swift, hard yank on the leash and she quieted. I didn't want Shadow to be put down for biting someone, especially since I didn't know what the rules were on dogs and self-defense in California. Silently, Shadow continued to bare her teeth at the men, fur bristling.

"Say," the first man said, "if yer lookin' fer some fun, why not fun wit'uh?" The other man barked out a croaking laugh and lifted a swaying arm.

"That don' make sense, idjit!"

"Yer the idjit, idjit," the first man shouted. "She know wuh I meand, didnya sweet'eart?" I waited as he swaggered closer. At first I had planned to merely walk away, but as the two men came closer a new urge came over. I'd never experienced it before, but the unknown was exactly what I needed at that moment. The old me would have escaped and probably headed towards the bar, where I knew there was safety in numbers. The new me wanted these men to get close enough so that I could take them on and claim self-defense. Rolling the dogs' leashes between my fingers, feeling my own blood pulsing in my veins, I waited.

The first man blinked, his unfocused eyes trying and failing to find my face.

"'Ey," he said loudly. "Are yer deaf? Didja hear me? I said lets-" he took another step closer, almost within reach" –haz-" he swayed and nearly fell into me, close enough that I could smell the alcohol on his breath "-fun!" The man placed his sweaty hand on my arm, and I moved, nearly a lifetime of martial arts training taking over. Grabbing the mans wrist, I twisted and was rewarded with his startled shriek. Once he released me, I pulled him off balance and swept his feet out from under him. He toppled to the floor. Shadow started barking like crazy, razor sharp teeth flashing in the night, and even Ginger began to yip, finally realizing something was wrong. The other man staggered to a halt and pointed, utterly dumbfounded, and I took advantage of his shock. Letting the dogs' leashes drop to the floor, I leapt over the fallen man and planted a kick in the center of the second man's chest.

He flew backwards with a grunt and fell to the ground, skidding a few paces across the asphalt.

"Stop!" My head whipped to the side, the blue and red swirl of police nights nearly blinding me. My throat tightened until I had difficulty breathing, my heart stuttering a dizzying beat. I shielded my face from the glow and turned away, blinking until the lights in my vision faded.

"Are you alright?" I felt a hand on my arm and pushed it instinctively away. Shadow's growl rippled through the night. I turned and saw a police officer – a sheriff, judging by his badge – looking down at me with concerned blue eyes. "Easy there, I'm Sheriff Stilinski, I received a call that there were a couple of drunks making trouble and I came here to pick them up. They didn't hurt you, did they?" It took a second for me to calm my heart rate and rapid breathing. Police lights always did that to me. For the first two weeks after the incident I couldn't even drive. The second I heard a siren or those flashing lights I would have a panic attack.

Sheriff Stilinski continued to watch me until I shook my head.

"No?" he clarified. I shook my head again. "Alright, well I'm glad to hear it. Boys, take these two into custody for disorderly conduct." He gestured, and the police officers behind him swarmed the fallen men. When they approached the car, Shadow released a series of growls and threatening barks that had them scrambling back. I silenced her with a whistle and gestured. Obediently, Shadow crept forward and Ginger practically raced to my feet, whining and jumping at my legs.

When I turned back, Sheriff Stilinski gave me an odd look, as if I belonged in a freak show instead of in the parking lot of a local bar.

"How did you do that?" he asked. It seemed like a silly question.

"Obedience training," I said quietly. The Sheriff's frown deepened, and I lowered my eyes. I didn't know what he wanted from me. Another man I hadn't seen at first stepped forward. He wore a black pantsuit with glossy gel in his neatly styled, black hair. A ghost of a bead clung to his chin and upper lip, and he fixed me with a pair of smoldering brown eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry about that," he said smoothly. "I called the police to take these ruffians away, but if I had known there was a young woman in the parking lot I would have sent my bouncers with them. Are you alright?" I nodded and studied his outfit. He seemed too well dressed to work for a mere bar or restaurant.

"Glad to hear it," he practically purred. His gaze moved on to take in the sight of the men being hauled to their feet by the police officers. "Still, I am impressed with how quickly you dispatched these men. As a way to apologize for the behavior of some of my patrons, perhaps I can offer you a job." He started to remove a card from his jacket but Sheriff Stilinski held up his hand.

"Easy there, Kristoff," Sheriff Stilinski warned. "She doesn't look to be more than – what, 14, 15?"

"16," I said quietly. He gave me another strange look. I wished he would stop doing that.  
"Regardless, she's too young to work at this…kind of establishment." Realization dawning, I turned and glanced at what I thought was a bar, noticing for the first time the huge neon sign at the front and the dim interior, interpreting the merriment and muted laughter in a different way. This wasn't just a bar or a restaurant. It was a strip club, a very successful strip club judging by the man's fancy suit.

With a charming smile, Kristoff pulled a card out of his jacket with a flick of his wrist and extended it towards me. Against my better judgment, I took it, much to the chagrin of the Sheriff.

"Kristoff-"

"Relax, Sheriff Stilinski," Kristoff purred. "I would never ask such a young, delicate flower as this to work in my club. I have another job for her."

"What job is that?" Sheriff Stilinski asked. I lifted my eyes to his face, wondering the same thing. In response, Kristoff winked at me.

"A job we can discuss later, if she'd like to call me," he said. "If there's nothing else I can do to help?" Sheriff Stilinski looked like he wanted to say more but shook his head instead. "Very well. Have a good evening, Sheriff. I'll talk to you later, little flower." With that, Kristoff turned and sauntered back towards the strip club, practically oozing sexual prowess with each step. I watched him leave with a growing sense of wonder, and stared down at the card again. The old me would have torn that thing to shreds and tossed it in the nearest wastebasket; I never would have worked for a strip club, and my mom would have had a heart attack if I even considered it. My heart squeezed itself into a painful knot, and I sucked in a deep breath before it could overwhelm me.

But my mom wasn't here.

Under the watchful eyes of the Sheriff, I tucked his card in my pocket and decided to call him later.

"What were you even doing here?" Sheriff Stilinski asked. He hooked his thumb in the belt of his pants and turned to me. In that stance, I couldn't help but notice his assortment of weapons and shuddered.

"Evening run," I said quietly. Abruptly remembering my companions, I reached down and snatched Ginger's pink leash before she could wander under the nearest truck. She trotted back to my side with a wagging tail, tongue lolling happily. Shadow hadn't moved far from my side, but I picked up her leash too.

"In this part of town?" he asked dubiously.

"I got lost," I admitted. He frowned.

"I take it you're new here, huh," he said. I nodded. "Well, do you know your address?" After a moment's hesitation I shook my head. I hadn't had time to memorize it yet. "What about your family? If you're lucky, I know who they are, or someone who does." My insides hollowed out at the mention of family, but I decided to go with the simplest answer.

"I'm staying with Chett Amilar," I told him. Sheriff Stilinski's eyes widened.

"The tech manager at Beacon Hills High School? He's your father?" the Sheriff asked in disbelief.

"Older brother," I corrected softly. Understanding registered on his wrinkled face.

"Oh. Yeah, yeah that would make more sense. Then old man Amilar, he's your father?" I nodded, unable to speak. To me he was more of a sperm donor. My real dad had died a month ago, taken from me, but I didn't want to go there. Something registered in Sheriff Stilinski's eyes, a recognition and knowledge that scared me. It was like he knew me, or had heard about me. My fingers tightened around the leashes.

"Fortunately, I know where the Amilars live," Sheriff Stilinski said after a long silence. "Come on, I'll take you home."

 _Stiles Stilinski_

"I'm telling you," Stiles practically shouted, "you need to check this girl out!" Lydia pursed her lips and arched a brow, cocking her head to the side in the coy way she did when she thought he were talking absolute nonsense. Stiles backtracked quickly.

"That's not what I meant," he said quickly. "You know what I mean! Look, just, do your Banshee voodoo work on her, please?" Scott and Kira stood behind them by the lockers, both looking thoroughly unconvinced. Stiles had stopped them after class and told them about the new girl, but he knew they chalked it up to boredom.

"And why exactly would I want to do that?" Lydia asked sweetly.

"Come on, Lydia, because she's the new girl," Stiles said. He gestured down the hall towards the sea of milling students. "Isn't taking the new students under your wing kind of your thing?"

"Hey, that rhymed," Malia pointed out. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Yes, thank you, I'm a published poet," he said sarcastically. Malia perked up.

"Really?" Stiles and the rest looked at her quietly.

"Uh, no, not really," Stiles said with a frown. "My bad. PAnyway, you should check her out." With a sigh, Lydia swept her strawberry blonde hair over one shoulder and leaned back against her locker.

"I'm still waiting for the why, Stiles," she said.

"Alright, then, let's look at the facts," Stiles said. "What is our track record with new students at this school, huh?" He held up his fingers to begin counting. "Kira? Katana wielding kitsune whose mom is like ancient and decided to create a world war II vet that tried to kill me." Kira looked up with wide eyes. "No offense. Uh, anyway, next, there's Malia, a wercoyote who doesn't even like being human." Malia crossed her arms over her chest and arched her brows. "Come on, we all know its true. Also, those twins, who ended up being psycho Alphas who couldn't decide whether they wanted Scott or Derek more, and then finally there's…" Stiles trailed off suddenly, aware he was treading on very dangerous territory. Wincing, Scott released Kira's hand and tucked his own into his pockets. Lydia cleared her throat and glanced away from Stiles, her eyes growing moist.

"And last there's Allison," Malia said bluntly into the silence, "who came from a hunter family."

"Exactly," Stiles breathed. "Thanks for that." Malia perked up with a grin.

"Of course," she said.

" _Now_ do you see what I mean?" he said hopefully. Scott studied the ground thoughtfully.

"Is this the same girl your dad picked up last night at the bar?" he asked.

"I don't know," Stiles admitted.

"Did I just hear that wrong, or did Stiles' father pick up a girl – possibly a high school girl – at a club?" Lydia demanded.

"That's not what I meant," Scott and Stiles said at the same time.

"Tell her the story," Scott said with a sigh.

"With pleasure." Stiles cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "So, my dad gets a routine call to pick up a couple of drunk guys at a strip club, right? He gets there and finds both of the guys on the floor, and this high school girl in the parking lot."

"On the floor as in…they passed out?" Lydia asked candidly.

"On the floor as in she _took_ them out," Stiles corrected. "Security footage caught everything on tape. It was ruled self defense so she wasn't charged with anything. Anyway, uh…get this, the reason my dad told me is because he said the dogs acted strangely with her. One started barking, and the girl silenced it with just a whistle." He clapped his hands together once more, waiting for the others to arrive at the same conclusion he had. Their blank stares told him they hadn't.

"So the dog is well trained," Lydia said lazily.

"Or the whistle was really loud and annoying," Malia added. "If it were me I wouldn't have stopped, I would have just run away."

"We'll talk about that later," Stiles said absently. "But guys, come on, really? After everything we've been through that's the best you can come up with?" He stared each of them in the face. Kira shook her head.

"Sometimes a well-trained dog is just…a well-trained dog," she said. "It doesn't have to be supernatural."

"How are you not seeing this?" Stiles whined impatiently. "A high school girl – our age, mind you, and pretty small based on what my dad was saying – took on two guys twice her size _and_ controls dogs? What does that sound like to you?" Scott opened his mouth to say something then cocked his head to the side and glanced past Stiles.

"Stiles, what did you say that new girl looked like again?"

"Like, five feet tall, I want to say one hundred and twenty-ish pounds," Stiles began routinely, "yellow blonde hair-"

"And green eyes? Lots of make-up?" Scott interrupted.

"Yeah," Stiles said in exasperation. "If you remembered then why did you ask me to-" Wordlessly, Scott pointed behind him and Stiles turned. The new student, the one he'd seen yesterday, walked through the open doors of the school. Her yellow blonde hair fell to her ribs, messy and curled as if she hadn't bothered to brush it. Her face was downcast, but he still couldn't get a read on her. She was just…blank. A backpack hung off of one shoulder, and she wore a pair of black leggings, brown boots, and a sapphire blue hoodie.

She lifted her head and their eyes locked briefly. Stiles held his breath as if afraid of being found out, for reasons he couldn't explain, but not a hint of recognition sparked in her jade green eyes. In fact, nothing sparked in those pale eyes. It was like her eyes were dead. Something tickled the back of Stiles' memory.

The rest of the group remained silent as she passed, stopping at a locker down the hall.

"Great, that wasn't obvious or anything," Kira muttered nervously. "We made that so awkward, maybe we should say something. I remember what it was like as the new girl, it sucked."

"We all remember what it was like as the new girl," Stiles said sarcastically. Scott gave him a look but he ignored it. "She'll be fine, especially if she's a supernatural creature here to make a little noise in our quiet lives. Lydia, what did you say you…" He turned and paused. Lydia stared at the new girl with wide, vacant eyes, her pink painted lips hanging open.

"Lydia?" he asked in concern. Stepping closer, Stiles put a hand on her forearm and she jumped slightly, head whipping around.

"Mmmh?" she asked. She swallowed, and before she blinked Stiles saw fear in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," she said. "I'm fine."

"That didn't look fine," Scott coaxed with a frown.

"Yeah, you reek of fear," Malia added. "I'm surprised the rest of you can't smell it." Lydia cleared her throat indignantly.

"I said I'm fine, so I'm fine," she said stubbornly. "Now, what were you going to ask me? Be quick, I need to study for algebra."

"You never need to study," Stiles said sarcastically. He held up his arms in supplication at her warning glare. "Alright, alright, sorry. I was going to ask you to tell us what exactly happened when you got that warning about the uh- about the promise of death." Sighing, Lydia tucked her textbooks against her chest.

"What day is it?" she asked.

"It's Wednesay," Scott said helpfully.

"I know that, I'm not a blind invalid, I meant what day of the month," Lydia said.

"It's the 26th of November," Kira said quietly.

"Thank you." Lydia glanced at her briefly. "Then it happened about a month ago. It was at night, and I just…I can't remember what I was doing, but I heard this scream. It felt like…I was breaking apart from the inside. That's when I felt the promise of death, like it was more than a warning, like it was…almost a…" She struggled to put the feeling into words, which in turn made Stiles uneasy. Anytime Lydia had trouble expressing something – which was rare – it was never a good sign.

"It was almost like what, Lydia?" Scott persisted gently.

"It was almost like…okay, this is going to sound stupid, but you know at the end of an episode they say 'next time on so and so'?" Scott nodded and Stiles simply frowned.

"No," Malia said bluntly. Stiles held up a hand and waved at her.

"I'll explain later," he said.

"It felt like that," Lydia continued softly, "except…I'm stuck on the cliff hanger. Like death has already been decided, but I'm waiting on the who in the next episode." The friends all glanced at each other apprehensively.

"Alright, now I'm starting to get paranoid," Scott admitted with a nervous laugh.

"Good!" Stiles announced. Scott glanced at him dubiously. "Well, not good, I mean, not good, but good that you're finally starting to listen to me." At that moment, the warning bells echoed through the halls. The students began to scatter.

"So," Stiles said quickly, "what's the plan?"

"The plan," Scott said firmly, "is to pass algebra." Rolling his eyes, Stiles followed them to class. He glanced briefly at the new girl's locker, but she'd already disappeared. For some reason, he felt uneasy letting her out of his sight.

Fortunately, that feeling didn't last very long. As Stiles trudged into his classroom with Scott and Lydia, he glanced up and nearly tripped. The new girl stood at the front of the class with the teacher, head bent towards the ground. Stumbling over his own feet, Stiles took his seat next to Scott.

"It's her," Stiles whispered fiercely.

"Yeah, I got that," Scott whispered back.

"You don't think it's a coincidence?" Stiles demanded. Scott frowned.

"Dude, we go to the same school, we're bound to have some classes together," he replied bluntly.

"I'm telling you, I-"

"Settle down, boys and girls," the teacher announced. The other students quieted. "I have an announcement before class starts. This is Alexis Svipul, and she recently transferred here from Phoeix, Arizona." The teacher gestured to Alexis but she remained unmoving, eyes fixed on the ground. "Anyway, since it's difficult to transfer in the middle of the semester, I'd like for all of you to be on your best behavior. Please, take a seat, Ms. Svipul." The teacher gestured. Without a word, Alexis began to walk forward. It took Stiles a minute to realize she was moving towards the empty chair in front of him.

He glanced at Scott as if to point out the coincidence, but Scott shook his head and rolled his eyes. This time, Alexis didn't even glance at him. She merely slid into her seat, pulled out a notebook, and flipped it to a new page. The other students continued talking until the final bell and the teacher began class. In spite of Stiles' suspicions, the class period passed without incident. He was almost positive Alexis knew he was staring at her, but he couldn't get rid of that horrible feeling.

Then, towards the end of class, her hand shot into the air, nearly making him jump.

"Yes, Ms. Svipul?" the teacher asked.

"Can I use the restroom?" The words were so quiet the teacher leaned forward to hear her better.

"She needs to use the restroom," Stiles said loudly. The other students all turned towards him, and he hunkered down in his chair, feeling his cheeks heat. He didn't know why he said that. He hadn't meant to say anything. In front of him, Alexis didn't even react, merely sat there and watched the teacher. The teacher glanced between them with a frown and dismissed her with a wave. As she rose to her feet and left the room, Scott leaned sideways.

"What a gentleman," he said.

"Shut up," Stiles muttered. Laughing quietly, Scott pulled away and bent back to his work. Stiles was about to do the same, when something on Alexis' notebook caught his attention. As inconspicuously as possible, he leaned forward, pushing the textbook on the desk with him. Instead of notes, drawings covered the white pages of her notebook. In each of the drawings, a woman with hair covering her face stood, knelt, or crouched in various poses, with a long ribbon covering her body and her arms and feet in shackles. The hair rose on the back of Stiles' neck. Based on the detail alone, she must have been working on it all class period. Aside from that grudging respect, he felt enough misery and despair in the lines of the artwork to make his toes curl.

 _Alex Svipul_

The guy with the brown eyes and lopsided grin was staring at me all day. I remembered him from yesterday, when I visited the principal with my brother. I knew him immediately, but I didn't want to say anything. Given his behavior, what if news did somehow spread to Beacon Hills? What if he knows? It's not everyday the nation hears about a triple murder with only one survivor. Especially since that survivor was considered a momentary suspect until fingerprints at the crime cleared her. Those days were exceedingly dark, and I don't particularly feel like traveling down memory lane with anyone, and especially not becoming a novelty for something that never should have happened in the first place.

I didn't know if it was the guy's weird behavior, or the quiet town, or just this restless feeling clawing at my gut, but after school I reached immediately for the card Kristoff gave me. Fishing my cell phone out of my bag, I dialed in the numbers. It rang a few times before Kristoff's melodic voice answered.

" _Good afternoon, this is Kristoff of Lucky Lady, how may I help you?"_

"Kristoff?" I didn't even know how to introduce myself, since I never gave him my name. The line on the other end went quiet, and for a second I was afraid I'd lost him. "This is…the girl from last night. The one you gave the card to."

" _I know, my little flower."_ Kristoff's voice practically caressed my ear over the phone. _"Does this mean you're interested in discussing the job I have for you?"_

"Yes," I said firmly.

" _Wonderful,"_ he purred. _"I hope this doesn't deter you, but I'd like to discuss this job in person."_ It didn't deter me in the slightest.

"Where should I meet you?"

 _Case Number: 418-1938B. Armed robbery and murder._

Glass shattered and rained down on the torn carpet. Rows of bookcases rocked and fell, scattering books all across the floor. The lone book clerk, tasked with closing the store for the night, scrambled towards the back of the room. His dark hair hung messily around his head, and he grappled with a key ring as he ran, panting anxiously. Fingers shaking, he tried to fit a key into the lock. A pair of strong, sharp fingers grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backwards.  
Screaming, he spun, throwing out his arms to defend himself. The nameless assailant, cloaked in shadows by a hooded sweatshirt, pushed his arms aside like he was a doll. The store clerk sniveled as the nameless person grabbed him by the throat.

"I already told you," the clerk wailed, clutching at the person's forearm. "We don't have a book like that! I don't even know what you're talking about!" The figure's grip tightened, and the clerk tried to scream but it was cut off. A gurgling sound broke the silence of the night and then faded ominously. The hooded figure dropped the body of the clerk and left the bookstore in ruins to search for his prize.


End file.
